a golden boy was begging for mere
moments to halt the essence
of linear progression and almanacs
with cinematic tension soundly
coiled in his hair. every moment covered in
violent echoed-blues and bronze!
walking with swagger under vast sapphire skies!

“this is not to act like a
coward last man on earth,” he gushed:
“surrounded by his
treasured literature
with sad, broken glasses
nor to punch my enemies
square in the nuts, but for the
utter absence of syllable
and subtle vibration. a complete
ivory silence to feel honeyed
wheat brush on your fingertips
where a royal blue farmer sits at
rest on his plow, at even high
noon. what are statues without
moments birthed from deep ticks of
concentration?

marble molds best over time. a bronze bug
burns under unrelentless rays in seconds as you
lay in auburn grass, one leg over the other,
smiling as the earth briskly awakens.”

WL